


Nothing but Pain

by Romiress



Category: Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Mindbreak, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violent Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-10-01 19:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20384152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Alternate take on Jason's torture, specifically the scene in Arkham Knight Genesis Issue 4 with Catman and Blockbuster in Batman costumes.





	Nothing but Pain

He is nothing but pain. Every part of him hurts. Every part of him is nothing  _ but _ hurt, like everything that makes him  _ him _ has been flayed away until he's nothing left but agony.

The lights are too bright, shining in his eyes. His entire body is soaked. He can't see, can't think, and his head is buzzing from the pain of the shocks he just received in therapy.

But then he's pretty sure therapy isn't supposed to involve a car battery.

There's a  _ slam _ loud enough to wake the dead, but he can't muster up the energy to so much as lift his head. The Joker's talking—he knows the Joker's voice better than he knows his own—but Jason couldn't make himself pay attention to what he's saying if he wanted to. It's just word after word, some big grand speech about something Jason doesn't care about. He can barely hear him, his one eardrum popped from a blow to the head weeks earlier.

He wonders if he's ever going to hear through it again. He wonders if he's going to live long enough for it to matter.

He's pretty sure he doesn't want to.

The Joker says something like 'you're just like me' and he makes himself lift his head ever so slightly, offering a wheeze. If he doesn't respond at least a bit, he knows what'll happen, so he has to at least pretend like he's following what's happening. He has to pretend like he cares. Like he really believes.

Every second of every day feels like he's losing his grip on what he believes. On what's  _ real. _ He knows it's already starting. He knows he's losing his grip. Or maybe he lost his grip a long time ago and he's just lying to himself about how bad it is.

The only thing he knows is true is pain. As long as he has that, he at least has something.

The Joker says something else—he's pretty sure he just got called  _ bucko— _ and then things go wrong.

Batman's there. In his old suit and his new suit but he's  _ there _ and he's coming right at him, and Jason's heart leaps in his chest. He's there. He's there and he's going to take him home and everything's going to be alright.

The thought lasts as long as it takes for Batman to kick him in the face.

He tastes blood, seeing stars. The beatings not the worst he's had, but those beatings were when he was a lot better than he is right then. When he'd eaten a meal recently. When he'd had some water. He chokes, spitting blood as Batman clocks him across the face, the rough material of his gauntlets making the damage worse than it would already have been.

The chair topples as blow after blow comes, and Jason can no longer distinguish one blow from another.

Maybe he has lost it. Maybe this is just his brain mixing things up.

He tries to say his name—tries to beg for Bruce to stop—but he can't manage words right then. The only moisture in his mouth is his own blood, the taste of copper heavy on his tongue.

The blows stop and he wonders if he's unconscious. Maybe he's dead. 

That would be nice.

Thick fingers tangle in his hair, jerking his head up. It's gotten long enough to grab (Bruce would be furious), and his brain catches when he realizes that it's Bruce taking advantage of that, hauling him to his knees by it.

It hurts, but so does everything else.

Joker—it must be Joker, even if he can't remember why the Joker would even be there—is shouting for him to get up. He's shouting for Batman to stop.

A Batman—aren't there two? There's only one in front of him, but he'd have sworn there were two—drags his head back, massive hands reaching forward to grab at the orange of the jumpsuit he's wearing and pulling at it.

It hurts. It hurts and it's not meant to tear, but it tears anyway, leaving lines of bruises up and down his back. Jason tries to cry out, but he can't even manage that.

A cock slaps his cheek. He doesn't understand where it came from, feels dim and stupid as it slaps his cheek again.

He makes a noise—it's all he can do—and the moment his mouth opens the cock simply shoves in. He bites almost instinctively and the cock withdraws, only for a fist to slam the side of his head. He hits the floor hard, knocking the air out of him, and he feels tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

Somehow, that feels shocking to him. He didn't think he could still cry.

The hand grabs his hair again, jerking him back up onto his knees.

"Not wet enough," someone says, and it's not Bruce and it's not Joker but Jason's head is spinning too hard to understand who could even be talking.

Something hot and wet hits his cheek and he tries to twist his head away, but the fingers in his hair hold him firmly in place.

Someone laughs above him and a hand grabs his jaw, jerking his mouth open.

It's piss. He can taste it in his mouth and it's soaking down the front of his shirt, staining it yellow, and Jason manages a broken sob. He doesn't understand what's happening. He doesn't understand  _ why _ it's happening.

"Better," someone says, reaching down to start peeling his soaked clothing off him. There's a knife in his hand and they just start cutting it all away, leaving cuts up and down his sides. A hand grabs his cock and  _ squeezes, _ and Jason lets out a wail of pain, overwhelmed and disgusted.

The hand in his hair releases, and a fist slams into the side of his head again.

They don't pull him back up. Instead, fingers grab at his hip, pressing down hard enough to bruise as they flip him onto his belly.

He should know. He should  _ know _ what's coming, because there's only one thing that could be happening with his clothes in tatters, soaked in another man's piss on a disgusting floor. But even still, it catches him by surprise when something far,  _ far  _ too big starts to press against his hole.

He croaks something that's meant to be a protest, but it turns rapidly into a scream as the thing continues to press in. It hurts. It hurts so bad that it might truly be the worst thing he'd ever felt, like he's being torn in half.

He screams until he can't anymore, until his voice completely gives out and the thing—it can't be a cock, it's too large—is buried so deep in him he feels like it must be right behind his belly button. All he is right then is pain. He's pain given physical form, unable to process anything outside of the pain that's taking over every part of his entire body.

Then they start to move.

He doesn't understand how it can be worse, and yet it is. It's worse. His entire body is on fire. He is his pain and nothing else and he finds new energy in him just to scream as he's fucked into the floor.

He blacks out and wakes to something wet hitting his face, getting in his eyes. His mouth is forced open, and a cockhead is pressed against his tongue, wiping away the last of the cum.

He can't feel anything below the waist. He's sure he doesn't want to. There's just a dull buzzing, his brain trying to protect him from himself. From what he is right then.

"Oh no!" Someone says, their voice impossibly loud, and there are  _ sounds  _ so deafening he can't even process them.

"I think I broke him," someone says, much quieter, and then there's an arm around his shoulders, pulling him upright.

Joker. Joker's there, holding him upright, his face the picture of concern.

"Oh Jason," he says, his voice still too loud. "I can't believe it! Who would think the Batman could be so cruel? But it's alright, I've stopped him for you. I've saved you."

He points, and it takes Jason what seems like hours for his eyes to register. Batman's there—two?—still and unmoving on the floor.

"He shouldn't have been allowed to do that," Joker says. "It's just awful. But we can fix this."

Something heavy and hard is pressed into his hands, and Jason holds it without even registering what it is. It's not until the Joker reaches down, wrapping his hands around Jason's own to help him lift the gun does he really understand.

"You can fix this," Joker says. "You can make it stop so he'll never touch you or anyone else ever again. You can be the hero we need."

The Joker helps him pull the trigger, the gun bucking in his hands as he puts a hole in Batman's head.

"Now now," Joker says when his ears have stopped ringing. "One more. Just to make sure he doesn't get back up."

The gun turns slowly to the side, and the process repeats, a second hole appearing in Batman's head. Jason's head buzzes. His stomach hitches, and he twists, heaving as his body attempts to throw up nothing. His stomach's empty. There's nothing there to get rid of, but his body tries anyway.

"Shhh," Joker says, his voice soft as he pulls the gun away. "You were doing so well! Really, that's my boy."

The Joker reaches up, pinching at his cheek like he would a child.

"And good work deserves a reward, doesn't it? Of course it does, silly question."

The Joker's hand reaches down, cupping his cock, and Jason chokes at the sudden burst of sensation.

"No," he croaks, the best he can manage.

"No, you don't want me to stop? I know! I'm great with my hands," the Joker says, grinning down at him as he gives Jason's cock a little squeeze, starting to stroke.

He doesn't want to respond. Jason doesn't understand how he can. But his body isn't listening to him, and all he can do is sob as the Joker jerks him into a proper erection.

"I knew you'd be the hero I needed," the Joker says as Jason's body tries desperately to cling to every scrap of pleasure it can get. "My little Robin! My little sidekick."

He doesn't stop. He just keeps going, pushing and pushing as Jason's legs curl. His entire body aches as he lets out another broken sob.

"Now come on, we don't have all day!" The Joker says, his pace increasing, and it seems like only a few moments later it's too much, and Jason's entire body locks up as he finishes, dribbling over Joker's hand.

"Disgusting!" Joker declares, shaking out his hand before settling for shoving it into Jason's mouth. "I did you a favor," he says. "So clean it up."

Jason cleans it up, his tongue dragging over the Joker's hand, trying to get every drop.

It's the least he can do after Joker saved him.


End file.
